Robert Francis James

A social media post by another artist this week prompted me to ponder the origin of the term still life . The Met defines a still life as a glorification  of everyday life—of “the home and personal possessions, commerce, trade, and learning.” The still life emerged as a genre in the Netherlands four hundred years ago. Its precedents (including paintings like Petrus Christus‘ 1449 Goldsmith in His Shop ) were religious in nature; but Dutch painters decidedly abandoned religious motifs for secular ones. They painted instead pictures of “conspicuous” luxuries: hams, lobsters, oysters, pâtés, porcelains, rummers,  silverware, and floral bouquets. Celebrations of the hunt board became all the rage among wealthy collectors. Call it a “eureka moment,” but I realized this week why after four centuries the still life still holds our attention. The name says it all. Still life is derived from the Dutch word s tilleven , ( stille + ven ). Ven means life . Stille means qui...

In February, the Newark Arts Alliance will host Cold Comforts , my very first solo show. The paintings in the show will center on the theme of “food as consolation.”* I’m delighted the Alliance elected to host Cold Comforts and glad for the boost it will give to my productivity. There’s nothing like a deadline to put you in gear. A solo show, of course, can be a source of anxiety. All eyes are on your work, especially those of critics. One bad review can sink you. But I’m with actress Jane Russell on that subject. “Publicity can be terrible,” she said, “if you don’t have any.” Emerging artists need publicity, because the art world is far too parochial. A study by The Art Newspaper found that one-third of major solo shows held in US museums featured artists represented by just five galleries (Gagosian, Pace, Marian Goodman, David Zwirner, and Hauser & Wirth). In the case of several large art museums, the percentage is twice and three times that number. The study’s fi...

Everything is broken. — Bob Dylan Philosopher Bernard Stiegler calls ours The Age of Disruption . Everything  is broken . That insight is perhaps what lures me to the movement known as Disrupted Realism . Disrupted Realism, which embraces the idea that “the power of chaos rivals the power of order,” has deep art-historic roots, as artist James Gurney observes. Among others, Disrupted Realists borrow from the paintings of Francis Bacon, Richard Diebenkorn, Andrew Wyeth, Richard Schmid, and Gerhard Richter—all favorites of mine. Disruptive Realists paint realistically, yes; but they efface reality , smashing edges, smearing surfaces, and breaking the illusion of forms in space. Among contemporary Disrupted Realists, three of the finest, for my money, are Patrick Lee , Ollie Le Broq and Ans Debije . Their work enchants me. “Disrupted Reali sm isn’t exactly a style and it may not even be a tendency,” says art critic John Seed . The painters who are drawn to it are Cl...

All you have to do is show up. — Constantine Brancusi My worst enemy is indolence. You could call it my favorite hobby. Writer  Ernest Hemingway famously beat indolence by leaving his last sentence unfinished every night. Sculptor Constantine Brancusi beat it by arriving early at his studio in the mornings and picking up a broom to sweep. “All you have to do is get to your studio and put a broom in your hand,” he said. “ Just by the act of sweeping and cleaning you will start working .” Brancusi was a neatnik, no doubt; he once commanded millionaire David Rockefeller to sweep the studio floor . I’m a bit obsessed by neatness, too. I try to keep my studio clean and presentable, not for others’ sake, but my own. But the act of tidying up doesn’t goad me to paint. For that, I have to open seven or eight tubes and squeeze out paint; in other words, I have to start making a mess. Whatever works, I guess. Above: Fool’s House by Jasper Johns. Oil on canvas with broom, to...

Happiness lies in the joy of achievement and the thrill of creative effort. — Franklin D. Roosevelt On Saturday, I had the distinct pleasure of painting en plein air  outside the studio of  N.C. Wyeth  in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania, under the guidance of my realism teacher,  Randall Graham . The afternoon was warm, the autumn sunlight lemony. Initial charcoal sketch I found that to bathe in that warmth and light and in all those Wyeth-family vibes in the air inspired me to paint freely and loosely—even though the results are highly questionable (another of my teachers found the following day innumerable faults in Pumpkin on Boulder , all clearly on display to a knowing eye like hers). The painting aside, my memories of Saturday will last me a long, long time, because I was swept up for five hours in the wellspring of happiness, flow . I recently asked Delaware painter Lena Moaney  why she paints and her reply was immediate: “I paint to relax. When I pai...

The soul grows by subtraction, not addition. — Thoreau The rare exception, I painted Beer Bottle alla prima from a photo yesterday. (I usually paint from observation.) I’m away from my studio, staying, Thoreau-like, in a cabin in Maine, and can’t set up my subject easily. While still wet, I posted Beer Bottle on a couple of painters’ groups on Facebook. The painting received a rather stinging comment from someone who posts none of her own work: “How about some cast shadows?” I advised her that, in reality (in this case, photographic reality), the cast shadow falls behind the bottle, and is invisible to the viewer. She responded: “Artistic license is an essential part of the process. We can add or subtract as our vision dictates. Shading and shadows add a bit of interest to a rather flat and static composition.” Grrrr. Unless solicited, the rules for these Facebook groups prohibit criticism; but that’s beside the point. Should I wish to paint what I see (even in a photo), ...

Inspiration is for amateurs. — Chuck Close Old objects and the personal memories associated with them inspire my paintings. I’m content to call it nostalgia . Like weight-gain, nostalgia is an affliction of the aged and can rapidly get out of hand. I especially loathe the kind that wistfully pines for a rosy past that never was so rosy. But at least I’m never at a loss for inspiration. Thanks to post-World War II consumerism, there are millions of old objects for me to paint : millions of cans, bottles, tools and toys that have been stashed away in attics, basements and garages; and millions more on display in thrift stores, antique malls and on eBay. I can buy these for a song. I just finished a Yoo Hoo bottle and am planning next to paint a beer can—specifically, a Ballentine’s Beer can—an idea planted by a throwaway remark made to me this week by another artist, Peter Swift , while we were waxing nostalgic about Newark, New Jersey (the home, until 1972, of the P. Ballantine ...